


Demons At My Back, Breath on Fire, I Fall

by ISC



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Infidelity, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:53:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6965329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISC/pseuds/ISC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur was, as always, ruthlessly efficient.</p><p>In the wake of betrayal, Arthur sees no way out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons At My Back, Breath on Fire, I Fall

Arthur Part1

Arthur knew, objectively, that he wasn’t the most affectionate lover. Where Eames was grand gestures-flowers, obsidian cufflinks, the most expensive gun cleaning kit on the market-Arthur was tea made perfectly in the morning, though he detested tea, Eames’ favorite show on the DVR, his favorite shirt repaired and ironed. Arthur wasn’t one to buy something because he thought Eames would like it, he didn’t do gifts, he would rather scour the tea aisle in 4 different stores searching for that one particular brand of Earl Gray that Eames favored. 

Arthur was clean lines, consistent and steadfast consideration-where Eames was erratic, forgetful and prone to grand gifts in the stead of knowing how Arthur took his coffee-or even which brand he drank each morning. 

However-for fear of losing what had come to be the most important part of his life- Arthur was striving to rectify that. He bought silly cartoon socks at the drugstore that he thought would make Eames smle that eye-crinkling smile Arthur loved so much. He brought home Eames’ favorite meal from Eames’ favorite diner-complete with a gaudy orange daisy. Arthur wore his hair ungelled and his thin, silver framed glasses-both of which Eames claimed to adore. 

He had even called a friend in Columbia-had a special ring made from a priceless artifact that may or may not have gone missing in the 90’s. A ring that sat nestled in a painstakingly hand crafted coffin shaped box that he had tucked away in his neatly pressed slacks. His waistcoat was carefully selected, the cufflinks that Eames had given him glittered in the light of the three black candles he had lit. The dinner was unboxed, having been warmed on the stove and carefully plated. For someone who adored people, Eames hated eating in restaurants-and though Arthur loved dining at the petite french place on the corner, tonight they were going to dine on spicy Indian food-Eames’ favorite.

Now, however, nearly an hour after Eames had promised to be home, Arthur sat perfectly still at the table he had carefully set with their finest china-the ridiculous daisy as a centerpiece. He held his cell in his slack hand, blinking blankly at the white text.

 **To Arthur  
** From Eames  
-busy darling-have dinner wo me-hm l8

Arthur didn't know if he should be angry or sad. Eames wasn’t on a job, Arthur kept a solid and always informed dossier on everyone, especially Eams, he knew when he was and was not on a job. Taking a moment to consider his actions, Arthur swiped the message away and tapped away for a moment, after only a second of hesitation he went ahead and activated the microphone on Eames’ phone.

“-ast love. You look radiant. Hmm. And your lips are divine.” Eames spoke, voice husky, sultry in that way that Arthur, foolishly, assumed had been just for him.

“Oh Jimmy.” The feminine voice was lit with a soft moan and giggle, Arthur went to switch off the microphone-heart in his throat-when an angry voice cut across the intimate moment. 

“Move and we shoot!! Tie ‘em up!” There was yelling, Eames threatening violence and the squirrelish scream of the woman before Eames’ phone was dropped and broken.  
Swallowing his heart, Arthur considered his phone screen for a moment-only a moment-before he stood to extinguish the candles. 

It took him about an hour to gather all of the intel he needed. A former mark out for revenge, how cliche, had sought to exact their pound of flesh. The woman, an extractor, hadn’t been involved, she was just unplanned collateral. They had taken the two to an abandoned soap factory about 20 minutes outside of town. Nabbing the keys to his mustang, Arthur intended to make it in 10.  
\--

The factory was at the end of a dusty stretch of abandoned road. Arthur parked near the road and took a leisurely stroll toward the door. Four big men, enforcers, stood hulking out front. Armed with semis and .45’s. Arthur applied a silencer and his typical militant precision in removing their threat. Arthur stood for a moment, staring down at the corpses felled at his feet. He considered the blood splattered on his dove gray button down and the few spots on the toe of his polished black boot. 

He knew there were at least two more enforcers inside, he knew the former mark, Ryan Charles Brown, 38 year old CEO of GreenDash Plastics, had gotten his hands on a pretty little glock. Arthur straightened his tie, calmly brushing the brain matter off with thin, tapered fingers. Throwing his shoulders back, he removed his hunting knife from the sheath at the small of his back and threw open the doors.

Eames Part 1

The first time Eames fucked Arthur he just knew he wouldn’t be able to quit. Arthur was hard edges and neatly pressed clothes and practicality and Eames just loved pulling that all apart, piece by piece. Arthur, unobserved, was not entirely unlike work Arthur. Though a little less rigid, Arthur applied the same attention to detail he utilized in dreamshare to their relationship. Eames wasn’t even sure of when Arthur’s birthday was. Even though Arthur had shown up with Hawaiian Pizza and a copy of DieHard on Eames’.

Eames was pretty sure he loved Arthur, he knew Arthur loved him. The man didn’t do anything by halves, and when he had finally allowed himself into Eames’ life and bed it hadn’t taken too long for the self-assured point man to fall. Arthur became softer toward Eames over time, sweeter almost. He took more time to do things Eames enjoyed doing, took more jobs with the forger. Eames basked in the attention, enjoying the devotion of the uptight man. 

However, as time wore on and the novelty _of oh god Arthur_ wore off, he grew bored. Arthur was perfect-kind (to Eames), considerate (to Eames), loving (to Eames) and generous (to Eames)-but Arthur was too perfect. Even when he stashed severed fingers and bodiless eyes in the icebox, or cleaned the blood off his glock at the kitchen table, Arthur bored him.

Then he met Rhonda-the extractor. 

Rhonda was thick curves and, while not nearly on Arthur’s level, clever. She was pretty, blonde, tall and complacent in bed-everything Arthur was not. She didn’t challeng him in ways Arthur always did. Yet, he couldn’t seem to let Arthur go. He knew he should, it wasn’t fair to Rhonda, who didn’t know about Arthur, and it wasn’t fair to Arthur-who would probably compartmentalize and move on with barely a word.

When he blew off dinner with Arthur, he didn’t even think twice. Rhonda had called him, sultry over the phone, wanting to meet up at the hotel she was staying at for a job. He had met up with her and shot a quick text, blowing Arthur off. They hadn’t wasted any time, they met in the middle, stripping casually, lips locked and hands heavy. He never even heard the door unlocking-having been so out of it-that it wasn’t until the press of a glock against his head that he registered the intruders. Rhonda was screaming, trying to pull her dress back on, the men shouted, pistol whipping Eames as he hollered for them to let her go. He blacked out to the sounds of duct tape unwinding.

\--

Ryan Brown was a chatty fucker. Eames was tied heavily with tape to a dingy metal chair, his mustard colored paisley shirt was nearly ripped off. His shoes were still back at the hotel, as was his phone. His head throbbed painfully as he surveyed the room, noting with relief that they had been kind enough to use only rope on Rhonda. 

“You ruined my life James Eames. You ruined my business! My marriage! My retirement!”

Brown was still ranting, pacing like an angry monkey, arms, and gun, waving about comically. Eames listened halfheartedly, more concerned with wiggling his feet and arms, slowly loosening the tape that bound him. It had been about an hour, Eames regretted blowing Arthur off now. The point man would have never been caught off guard like he and Rhonda had-Arthur would have used that ruthless efficiency to dispel any threat.

Ryan Brown was gearing up for another long winded rant about how Eames had caused the downward spiral that is his life, as the man puffed himself up he was interrupted by the doors slamming open. 

“I am going to ask nicely Mr. Brown; put the gun down.” Arthur was a vision. He was wearing Eames’ favorite outfit, complete with ungelled hair and those delicate silver frames, the effect was only heightened by the splatter of blood across the formidable mans torso.

Ryan Brown, it seemed, had a brain after all-for the moment he laid eyes on Arthur he paled. 

“Ar ArthUR!”

“Mr. Brown.”

“What’re you doing here?”

Arthur smiled, the knife in his hand gleamed in the light, blood dripped to the floor. “You interfered.”

“I...interferred…?”

“Yes.” Arthur stepped closer, arms loose at his sides.

“Rhonda? With Rhonda? She was with Eames! They were screwing!”

Eames winced at the words, peering up at Arthur, who appeared unfazed. “Yes, that they are. I, however, meant Mr. Eames.”

Eames held his breath at that. Mr. Eames? Arthur hadn’t called him that in 4 years, not since before they got together. His heart thumped heavily in his chest, he suddenly felt cold.  
“Mr…” Ryan was panting, the dawning realization on his face painted a panicked picture.

“Yes. Mr. Eames.” Arthur was within arms reach, he peered calculatingly at Rhoda, his eyes skimmed over Eames briefly as well, he paused on the busted lip, eyes narrowing. He tucked his hunting knife away with a slow and deliberate movement.

“Mr. Levine, I didn’t know! I!” His words were cut off with the bullet that lodged into his skull, he fell lifelessly to the ground.

Arthur tucked his gun away and calmly walked toward Rhonda, who squealed under her gag. He knelt, cutting through the ropes on her feet and hands before removing the gag.

“Can you walk Miss Bowin?”

“Arthur, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know! Honest.”

Arthur lifted an eyebrow at her, wordlessly looking her over for injury, once satisfied he turned his attention to Eames. “Stay seated Miss Bowin, I will untie Mr. Eames and we will be on our way.”

She nodded, eyes lit with betrayal as she gazed at Eames. He, however, had only eyes for Arthur, whose face was cold as stone. Arthur's knife gleamed red as he cut through the tape that bound Eames, he was calm, silent as he worked. He didn't remove the gag like he had with Rhonda, he left that to Eames. 

“Arthur…” He was stayed by the hand Arthur held up, steady and calm, a motion for silence.

“Go help Miss Bowin. I will pull the car up.” He walked away without ceremony.  
Eames watched him go for a moment before turning toward Rhonda and her betrayed eyes.

“You cheated on him? With me? How could you James? Arthur is a good man!” She shook her head at his silence, helping herself up. “I shouldn’t have to say it, but it's over.” With a level glare she allowed him to help her to the entrance where the low rumble of Arthur's mustang was waiting.

Arthur stood, pulling the door open for Eames to climb into the back, helping Rhonda take the front after Eames was situated in the back. “Would you prefer the hospital or to return to your hotel Miss Bowin?”

Rhonda looked at Arthur, her eyes pleading. Eames knew the general attitude of the dream share community toward Arthur was respect mixed with a healthy amount of awe and fear. 

Arthur was The Point Man, the best. “Hotel, please.”

Arthur nodded once, not asking for directions, just calmly starting the car. They drove in silence, miles stretched for hours, when they stopped at Rhonda’s building, Arthur got out and escorted her to her room, Eames took the opportunity to climb into the front seat. If Arthur minded the change in seating he didn't indicate it on his return, he just calmly took to the helm and steered them home. The ride continued in silence. 

Painstaking silence.

They arrived home without problem, Arthur waited until Eames pulled himself out of the front seat before he turned the engine off and climbed out after, ever the gentleman. Arthur followed him through the door, watching as Eames toed his boots off. “Clean yourself up Mr. Eames.” He turned on a heel and walked calmly to the bedroom.

Eames sighed and started for the bathroom before the glint of dishes caught his eye from the kitchen. He stopped, staring into the kitchen, at the dining table set for dinner. The bright orange daisy, the flamboyant placemats Arthur hated and Eames loved, the Indian food that made Arthur's stomach hurt but Eames craved constantly. The dinner he had blown off. Warmth bloomed in his chest, followed by a crippling thump of his heart.

How could he have grown bored of this?

Eames rubbed a hand down his face, considering. Why hadn’t Arthur said anything? It sat ill with Eames, should he ignore the order and go after Arthur? Grunting, he chose to accept the momentary hiatus and ambled toward the loo. A shower was in order to clear his head and heart.

\--

He came out of the shower sometime later, head a little less so, heart still heavy but with a clarity he had been lacking. He loved Arthur, loved him so much that it scared him, enough that he went chasing tail the moment he had the opportunity. Arthur was gorgeous, lethal and ruthless and thoughtful and kind. Arthur was the whole package, a complete catch, and Eames hoped that he would be able to explain this all so Arthur could forgive him.

Towelling his hair dry, Eames pulled his pants back on, leaving his trousers on the floor to be picked up later. He left the bathroom in a cloud of steam and he took a moment to stand in the doorway and look into the kitchen. It was all of Eames’ favorite things, he thought back to Arthur’s outfit, the tight charcoal waistcoat he loved on the slender man, the soft grey shirt that made his brown eyes shine. The cufflinks he had gotten him in Borneo, Arthur had looked incredible, had prepared an incredible meal, and Eames had blown him off for easy snatch. Sighing, Eames turned and ambled toward the bedroom.

The light was on, and Arthur was seated elegantly on the bed, he hadn't changed, but he had removed the cufflinks and unbuttoned the waistcoat. There was a duffle bag at his feet, a messenger bag against his hip, both full to bursting. Eames felt as if he were drowning, Arthur couldn’t be considering leaving! Not now that Eames had figured himself out. 

“Arthur I…”

Arthur cut him off with a hand, like he had done earlier. “Let me, Mr. Eames.”

“Mr. Eames? Arthur, if you’d just…”

Again, Arthur cut him off, this time with a cool glare that had his words dying on his tongue. “If you believe that I do not now know everything there is to know about your, affair, with Rhonda Bowin, then you do not know me very well Mr. Eames.”

Eames bit his tongue, stilled at the frosty tone of Arthur’s voice. 

“You will find that I have removed myself from the lease and moved the utilities into your name alone. I have everything I want here,” He patted his bags for emphasis “if you stumble across anything I may have overlooked-discard it-I am sure it isn’t important.”

It was then that Eames noticed the gun cleaning kit that he had given Arthur last year forgotten in the corner. No, not forgotten, left, with deliberation. The cufflinks sat innocently on the dresser and Eames felt his hands go numb. Arthur loved those. He had worn them religiously since Eames had gifted them to him three years ago. 

Arthur stood before Eames could gather his wits, calmly pulling his messenger bag over his shoulder, he lifted the duffle on the floor with ease. He walked deliberately around Eames as he left the bedroom, their bedroom. Eames followed, body thrumming. He stood by the couch and watched Arthur as he stopped by the door, hopeful that Arthur would give him a chance, and he did, even if unintentionally.

“Arthur, pet, please Please just let me talk, let me explain!”

Arthur turned, his hand loose but not slack on his duffle bag, eyebrow quirked. He waved his hand in a ‘go on’ manner. 

Licking his lips, Eames took a moment to think. He couldn’t fuck this up. “Look, Arthur, what it is, is. Uh. Well, here’s the thing. I love you, yeah? I mean. Yeah. I do. Love you that is. And I guess that, that just wigged me out, you know? And Ronnie was there, and pretty, and smart and didn’t take or ask for too much, you know? And she’s good with, y’know, showing how she feels. It’s easier with her. I don’t have to work so damn hard with someone like that, yeah? But, I don’t want that. I don’t want Ronnie. I want hard, complicated. I want you, cause I love you. And...yeah.” 

Eames peered up at Arthur, rubbing the back of his neck and hoping to god that he didn’t just bugger this all to hell. Arthur, for his part, looked incredibly unfazed.

“Ain’t you gonna say anything love?” Eames whispered, pleading at Arthur with his eyes.

Arthur set his bag down against his legs so he could ruffle through his shoulder bag. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, calmly shook one out, tucked the rest away in his trouser pocket and lit the stick with all the practice of a seasoned smoker. It was the first sign that he was losing it. 

“It’s funny,” He paused, exhaling a plume of smoke “All this time I was so concerned that I was going to be the end of this. That my inability to be… romantic or grandous would fail me.” He quirked his lips in a sardonic little smile that made Eames’ stomach twist.

“It is our anniversary, you know. 5 years today.” Another billow of smoke. Eames watched as Arthur dug around in his trouser pocket, only to pull out a small, delicate wooden coffin. He watched as Arthur ran his fingers over the box lovingly, his lips pulled down thoughtfully.

“You might as well have this. It’s non-refundable, though I imagine you could fence it for a pretty penny. I was going to give it to you tonight anyhow.” Arthur set it delicately on top of the television stand, fingers lingering. “It’s yours to do with as you please.” Lifting his duffle, Arthur pulled the strap up over his shoulder, free hand grasping his cigarette. He turned and opened the door, pausing for a moment in the doorway, smoke billowing around him from the draft. His voice had become thick, painfully so, and when he spoke next, Eame felt the world around him shatter.

“Until next time Mr. Eames.”

\--

Arthur Part 2

In the 18 months since Arthur had left New York he had taken 11 different jobs, back to back, as he tried to finalize his plans. He hadn’t taken a breath since Eames, not a moment or smell didn’t remind him of the forger. His devastation had left him even more efficiently ruthless, making him choice for jobs that required a higher body count. Arthur had heard the rumours, of how he had efficiently annihilated a fleet of soldiers and bathed in their blood. He had heard how he swept through Germany and left a field of flames in his wake- he rather enjoyed that one.

He only had 3 more months left. Three months, one more job and another $750,000 and he could end this farce. His savings was vast, but he needed to be sure it was enough. He had told Eames once, wrapped in the comfort of his arms and their blanket, that the first person he had killed was not, in fact, a 43 year old businessman but infact a 51 year old lawyer, a man who was abusive toward his wife and two children- particularly his son. 

Arthur had traced the lines of ink on Eames’ massive arms and told the forger about his father coming home, drunk, from a difficult case. The man had terrified the then 15 year old Arthur. With his thunderous voice and massive fists. He had swung first at Laura, Arthur’s mother, before turning on Marie, Arthur’s 17 year old sister. 

The man didn’t usually hit the girls, but that night he was on a rampage, screaming, throwing things, swinging fists. Arthur had pried the man off of his sister and with a scream, so many years of rage and pain and horror compiling in this one moment. He had swung back, both hands flying, he couldn’t even hear the girls behind him, screaming at him to stop. He swung, fists pounding into the man’s face with the same ruthlessness that fueled his later career.

He didn’t stop until the man’s face was an unrecognizable mass of blood and flesh, his own hands were raw and broken. Once his rage subsided Arthur realized what he had done. The man that was once his father was still, his chest didn’t move to take in breath, his face was destroyed. He was just barely 15 and he had beaten a man, his father, to death. His mother and sister stood behind him in shocked silence until Marie grabbed his arm and pulled him off of the man.

“Arthur, run!”

It was the last time he spoke to his sister. 

He had kept track, of course, over the years, this he had never told Eames. His sister had her own file, it was Arthur’s largest one, as it also contained the information on Tyler Thompson, her husband, and Arthur and Frasier, her children, his nephews. Arthur had sent Marie money anytime he saw her accounts dip, he knew that she knew it was him, not that it mattered as long as she was safe and happy.

Now though, he was preparing for the kid’s future as well as Marie’s. If it all went according to plan he would have 11.2 million for Marie and her beautiful children to secure themselves with. It was all of his savings, secured in several non-taxable offshore accounts, and after this last job, it would all be theirs. Sighing down at the glossy photo in his hand, Arthur allowed himself a slight smile. The youthful faces of Arthur and Frasier stared up at him. 

\--

Eames Part 2

Eames blinked back tears, knowing he had no right to cry. He wondered, briefly, if he would ever see Arthur again. When Arthur wanted to disappear, he did so with a seamlessness unparalleled in man and government. Locking eyes on the little black coffin Arthur had left, Eames forced himself forward and reached for the box with a shaking hand. It was light, hand carved with stunning patterns, paisley pattern, painstakingly carved into a box that was swamped by the size of his hand. 

Hands trembling, Eames turned the box over, admiring the subtle carving on the bottom.

_Don’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, Darling_

Tears welled again as his fingers traced the words, his words to Arthur, all those years ago. Finding the delicate latch, Eames lifted the lid, and finally allowed the tears to fall. Nestled in black velvet was a simple silver ring, a band of petite garnets-his birthstone- swirled in a familiar paisley pattern. Arthur wanted to marry him. His knees gave out and Eames dropped to the floor with a sob, box clutched in his hand like a lifeline. 

\--

“I have called in a point man-we need a game runner.” Garth Nate was an efficient extractor, he exuded confidence and intelligence, it made Eames relax in a way he was never able to with Cobb at the helm. 

Licking his lips, Eames let the familiar flutter of nervousness sweep over him the way it always did when a point man was mentioned. “Who might that be mate?”

“You know him I think, Arthur Levine.”

Eames felt like he was going to swallow his tongue. “Yeah, I know him.”

Arthur was going to be on a job with him. A long job, an eight week job. Eames felt his chest tighten. It had been nearly 2 years since he’d seen Arthur last, two years since he cocked up and broken the heart of a man who he had worked so hard to win over. Arthur didn’t love easily, it had taken Eames nearly 3 years to get a date with the man. And Arthur, Arthur had been a dream. He was a minx in bed, clever and playful, while domestically he was considerate and calming. He may not have been the most verbally affectionate man, but he had known Eames. 

And Eames had considered none of this when he had went dicking around. He hadn’t honestly even considered this the night Arthur had left, after riding in like a white knight and saving Eames and Rhonda from what would have been an embarrassing death. Eames had been so caught up in himself that he didn’t really consider his loss until he had sat on the floor of their kitchen, handcrafted ring in his hand. 

Eames lifted hand to stroke at the very ring he kept tucked under his shirt. He had his chance, and he was going to take it!

\--

Eames was a jittery mess. His legs were bouncing, a cigarette dangled from his lips as he tried, again, to read the provided dossier on his mark. It wasn’t nearly thorough enough for a complete forge, he recognized their need for a competent point man. Swallowing down his anxiety, Eames let his eyes wander to the door again, waiting on it to open. 

Arthur hadn’t arrived yet, Nate had said that the point man was finishing up a job and would be here around 3. It was nearing 2:50 and Eames knew Arthur well enough that he was sure the man was moments away from the door. 2:53 was punctuated by the warehouse door sliding open. Nate rose from the table he had shared with their architect, Nathan West, and walked jovially toward the door, and the slender man walking through it.

“Arthur! Good to see you again!”

Eames couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, frozen as he was with his eyes locked on Arthur. The point man was thinner than Eames had ever seen him, his slight frame was made more prominent from the ever fine tailoring of his black, three piece suite. Arthur’s wrists were birdlike, fingers were bone. There were dark bruises under his eyes, there was a tight draw to his mouth that gnawed at Eames.

Arthur didn’t smile as he shook Nate’s hand, but he let his expression soften the barest amount. “Garth, how’s Natalie? And the kids?”

“Good, good! How have you been Arthur? Heard rumor that you’ve been on a record breaking spree for taking jobs.”

Eames perked up at this, he had kept track, naturally, of Arthur. He knew that the man was working at a breakneck pace-the rumor being that he was gearing for retirement. 

“Ah, yes. I have been working steadily or a few months, keeping busy.”

Nate laughed. “Let me show you the team! That's Roger Hill over there, our chemist, and Nathan West, our architect, and that there is Eames, he said you knew each other.”

Arthur nodded politely at each of them, his eyes impassive and cold as they swept over the room. “Yes, we are acquainted.”

Eames stopped breathing, Arthur was as beautiful as ever, even rail thin and pinched with exhaustion. “Hello pet.”

Arthur, finally, let his eyes rest on Eames, who fought the urge to squirm under the blank stare. “Mr. Eames.” Arthur dropped his eyes long enough to dig a file folder, about an inch thick, out of his messenger bag. “This should help you with your forgery.” He set the folder down on Eames’ table before turning away, letting Nash lead him to the empty table in the corner. 

The file was thick, piles of pictures, notes and a flash drive that provided an audio sample, all of the information he needed for a convincing forgery tucked neatly in a file folder. Eames blinked back tears. He had missed Arthur, even more than he knew. 

\--

He didn’t get a chance to talk to Arthur for two weeks. The point man spent a large portion of his time out on the field, researching, and Eames spent most of his time under, practicing his forgery. 

It was a late night, the rest of the team had gone home, Arthur had stayed behind to finish up some research before he had to go undercover the next morning. It was one of the only chances he’d have to talk to the point man before the slender man became a low level intern at their marks’ firm. 

Eames studied the pull of Arthur’s shoulders, watching with rapt attention as Arthur methodically rolled up his sleeves. Eames’ mouth went dry when he spotted the flash of black ink on that pale forearm. 

Eames couldn’t resist, climbing to his feet, he meandered around, bringing himself closer to Arthur so he could spy over his shoulder. A delicate and intricate bullet was inked in the crook of his arm, a hint of a paisley pattern around the casing that left Eames breathless. “A tattoo pet? Whenever did you get that?”

Arthur, true to form, didn’t flinch, nor did he look up from the array of paperwork he was soldering through. “About 18 months ago, Mr. Eames. Don’t you have work to do?” 

It was a dismissal, but Eames ignored it. “18 months…?”

For the first time since that first day, Arthur looked up at Eames and met his eyes. Arthur’s face was stone, his eyes cold, uncaring. “Yes, Mr. Eames. 18 months. I got drunk, I want out, I made a mistake.” He looked down at his arm, and Eames had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the tattoo or getting drunk. “I decided to keep it as a reminder to be more careful.”

Eames worked his jaw but no words came out. Arthur was back to where he’d been the first time Eames had met him, nearly 8 years ago. A scrap of a 24 year old, fresh out of the military and stone cold on the inside. Damaged. It had taken years for Eames to see him smile, and even longer before he saw him laugh. Now, he was that same war-hardened soldier in an older, thinner body. He had done this, he had taken this man apart and left him with pieces missing. Eames felt sick. 

“Oh, Arthur…” 

Arthur didn’t let him finish before he was gathering his paperwork.

“Arthur, please.”

Arthur paused, hands steady, body rigid. He set his paperwork down and straightened his waistcoat before turning around to face Eames.

Eames licked his lips, hands fluttering out like he wanted to grab the other man. “Arthur, look. We should talk, yeah? About, about us. About September?”

Arthur didn’t so much as blink, he was perfectly, statuesquely still. “I believe I said everything I would ever need to say 18 months ago, Mr. Eames.”

Eames scowled, suddenly angry. “Dammit Arthur! How was I supposed to apologize when you dropped off the fucking planet?” He reached, hands locking like vices around Arthur’s biceps, shaking him. “You fucking left!” He screamed, his body was lit with rage and guilt.

Arthur, at long last, lost his careful control. “I left? Need I remind you of who cheated on who? I didn’t stick my dick in another person, Mr. Eames!”

Eames reeled back as if struck, gasping. he crushed Arthur to his chest and bit his way into Arturs demur mouth. Arthur pushed back, skeletal fingers digging into Eames’ wrists. Lust shot through Eames, he pushed Arthur back against the table where he could shove a thigh between Arthur’s legs, wanting, needing, Arthur to come undone. He tasted blood where Arthur had dug his teeth into Eames’ thick lip, and he reveled in the taste. Eames was painfully hard, hips jerking to rut against Arthur’s too thin leg. 

The hands on his wrists went slack, and as suddenly as he had pushed back, Arthur was shoving Eames away. “Stop.” He panted, hands pushing against Eames broad chest, “Fucking. Stop!”

Eames pulled away with a grunt, hands still fisted against Arthur’s arms, erection still struggling for friction against the point man’s thigh.

“Let me go, Mr. Eames.” The cold control has returned to Arthur’s voice and Eames wanted to scream.

“No.” Eames bit at Arthur’s long pale throat, he pushed his thigh up against Arthur’s groin. Arthur wasn’t hard, that pulled Eames to a cold stop. “Arthur, pet…” Eames sighed, body sagging. “Arthur. Arthur.” Eames reached a hand up to grab at Arthur’s cheek. “Arthur.” He breathed out the name lovingly. 

Arthur closed his eyes, lips pulling taut. “Once upon a time, Mr. Eames, this” Arthur waved a delicate hand between them “would have reduced me to a an unkempt mess. Now.” He sighed, tilting his face into the warmth of Eames’ hand. “Now it makes me want to go back 18 months, crawl back into that mess of betrayal, despair and rage that I had coveted,” Arthur opened his eyes and stared up at Eames. “it makes me want to fall apart. And not, I imagine, in the way you intended.” Eyes locked with Eames’, Arthur turned his face a pressed a kiss into the palm of Eames’ big had, just they he always had when they had been them. “Release me, Mr. Eames.”

Eames dropped his arms, his heart thumping painfully. “Arthur, I am so sorry.”

Arthur gathered his papers and bag, taking a moment to drape his suit jacket over his arm. “You definately are Mr. Eames.”

Eames watched Arthur walk away, and for the second time in his life he just let him.

\--

Arthur Part 3

Arthur breathed deeply into his nose, holding it in his chest he counted to ten before releasing it slowly out of his mouth. He did this two more times before his composure crumpled and he sagged against his motel door. The sob that tore its way out of him dropped him to his knees. He was hyperventilating, gasping and grabbing at his chest, Arthur paid no mind to the hours of research scattered across his floor, or the buttons that tore from his waistcoat as he ripped the thing off, trying to breathe. 

Water rushed in his ears, his throat was swollen shut, his jaw ached. The world around him was crumbling apart. Damn him. Damn him! Sobbing, Arthur ripped off his tie and slung it across the room. No matter how hard he tried, Eames was always able to reduce him to a wicked mess.

The point man let himself fall apart, chanting in his head ‘six more weeks, six more weeks’. The job they were on was precisely timed, once Arthur went undercover tomorrow the timer began, four weeks to create a mistrust between their mark and his colleagues, and a week to get him to the extraction point. Once under it would be a simple 20 minutes topside, return the mark to his home, and they would all go their separate ways, $750,000 richer.

Forcing control, Arthur took deep, gasping breaths, hands practically vibrating from shaking. Huffing little gasps, Arthur stood himself up and began gathering his research, he didn’t dignify his tears with a second thought. 

\--

Albert Beck, 51 year old partner in the law firm Beck, Brooks & Smith, had been embezzling from his partners, and had cut his children and soon-to-be-ex wife out of his will. The ex, Mrs. Eva Beck nee Whitman, had hired Nate’s team to destroy Beck’s career, a job they took with pleasure. 

Arthur adjusted his thick, black rimmed glasses as he peered up at the lawyer. His cover was simple, Adam Larson, grad student studying under Beck. Arthur had dressed down, having picked clothes off the rack at Sears, and had left his hair hanging in an attempt to appear younger. From the was Beck’s partner, Smith, leered at him, it appeared to be working. 

Arthur had been at the firm for four weeks, he had managed to build a firm and fast rapport with Beck, and had wormed the thoughts of distrust and the seeds of betrayal in Albert Beck’s admittedly sharp mind. It hadn’t been easy. Arthur had devoted his life to this for the last three weeks. Staying late with Beck to sip gin and discuss cases. Accompanying him to strip clubs and seedy bars where he helped the man grab ass. 

Arthur had weaseled himself into Albert Beck’s life, into his home. It was under his suggestion that Albert agreed to a weekend away. Arthur smiled across the car at Albert, Eames was behind the wheel, suit and drivers cap disguising his usual nonchalance. Arthur fixed them a slo gin, making sure he chose the ice cubes carefully for Beck’s drink. Should only take a moment, Arthur thought as Albert drank deeply from his glass.

“Adam, this was a great… a great...a gr…” Albert slumped down into his seat. Arthur counted to twenty-five before slipping his glasses off. 

“On point Mr. Eames.”

“Of course pet.”

Arthur closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the seat. Only a few more days. Then he’d have enough money for his nephews and sister, and it would all be over. He blinked away the tears, he could smell Eames’ deodorant and hair gel, it scorched him inside.

\--

Eames Part 3

The job finished quietly for once. Very little fanfare was had as they dropped Beck off at his home along with the envelope of information for Mrs. Beck. They cleaned the warehouse under Arthur’s watchful eye, and began the work of disappearing. Eames kept his eyes glued to Arthur as they worked, he wanted just one more shot to talk to the man, he couldn’t end it like this, not again. 

Arthur kept to himself as they worked, the slender man was nearly silent as he destroyed all records of ‘Adam Larson’ along with scrubbing security footage and erasing footprints. Arthur was methodical as he directed them in drenching the warehouse in gasoline, it was always easier to burn properties to the ground in this city. 

Eames was caught up in talking with Nathan, the young architect was eager to learn about forgery. Eames was pointing out the finer aspects of forging a woman, and when he finally looked up to scan the gas drenched warehouse, Arthur was nowhere to be found. Pausing mid-word Eames muttered an absent ‘sorry’ to Nathan before taking off to find Nate. 

Nate was standing near the door with Roger, he smiled jovially at Eames as the Brit walked toward him. They hadn’t had to wait for their payday, Mrs. Beck had been more than pleased to put this all to bed and had wired their payments directly into their bank accounts.

“Eames! Fantastic job yesterday! Brilliant work with Smith!”

Eames gave the man a wan smile before brushing the comment aside. “Have you seen Arthur, mate? Been needing to speak with him.”

Nate smiled, “He left about a half hour ago, said he had personal matters to tend to before he leaves tomorrow.”

“Do you happen to know where he’s staying?”

Nate looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head. “Nah, sorry.”

Eames clasped a hand on his shoulder in thanks, an uncomfortable pit formed in his stomach.

\--

Arthur Part 4

The contract was finished and sent out, the carefully written letter to his sister with it, all to be passed on upon his death. Arthur stood in the center of his motel room, spinning to admire the room’s tacky decor. He had changed into his favorite suit, Eames favorite. The same dove grey shirt with the pearl buttons that the cleaners had managed to get the blood out of. The trim waistcoat that was now too big on his starved frame. The pants, as well, hung off his hips. He’d never had the heart to have this particular suit tailored to fit, like he head with the others. After his weight loss, from stress, he’d been unable to gain any weight back, and had needed to have his clothes taken in. 

Fixing his tie, Arthur considered the bottle in his hand. He had originally planned on shooting himself, it was the most efficient. But, so messy. Hanging didn’t appeal to him, he always feared asphyxiation. Which left drowning out. Drugs, however, he could do. With one last cursory glance around the room, Arthur grabbed his bottle of water and settled himself and his oversized bottle of pills onto the bed. One by one he took the pills, carefully deliberate as he swallowed each one. 

Adjusting himself on the bed Arthur forced himself to relax. He knew, logically, that suicide was selfish and probably not the best way to handle his pain. However, pain was a familiar hat to him. After all, pain was his first memory. His father was a memory encased in pain, rage and embarrassment. His time in the military, his life as a dream agent. Eames. 

Pain was no stranger to Arthur. Rolling his neck, Arthur closed his eyes, letting himself slump. He was so tired. More than from the pills. Tired of life, of being awake, of pain. Tired of seeing Eames’ face in every broad shouldered man, in every British accent, behind his eyelids at night when he pretended to sleep. 

He let himself float, letting a moment of weightlessness fill him up. He was at ease. 

\--

Eames Part 4

Arthur had tucked himself away at a cheap motel on the outermost skirt of the city. Room rented under Richard Ricardo, Arthur’s favorite alias. Eames had sweet talked himself a key from the night shift counter girl, who had blushed and stammered and handed the key over without much fuss. 

Eames stood at Arthur’s door, considering knocking as he straightened his shirt and brushed imaginary dirt off his slacks. Twisting the key around in his fingers Eames took a moment, counting to 100 in his head to calm his shaking nerves. With a deep breath, Eames slipped the key in and twisted the knob.

“Arthur? Pet? Look , I just wanna’ talk love.” Pushing the door open, Eames frowned as he met no resistance, no gun jammed under his chin, no booby-traps or trip wires. “Arthur?”

Stepping inside, Eames froze when he saw Arthur stretched out on the bed, asleep. Brow furrowing, Eames glance around the room again. It wasn’t like Arthur to let his guard down. “Arthur?”

Walking toward the bed, Eames cursed as he stumbled, tripping over something on the floor. Glancing down, Eames frowned and picked up the discarded pill bottle. He didn’t recognize the name, which meant it was either stolen or belonged to a previous dweller. “Arthur, pet, wake up. We need to talk.”

Studying the bottle, Eames stopped at the side of the bed. “Arthur!” Looking up from the bottle, Eames peered down at Arthur, still as stone on the bed. “Arthur?” He noticed, at last, the unnatural stillness of the pointman. The quiet in the room as only one person breathed. 

“Arthur? Arthur!!” Dropping the bottle, Eames collapsed down onto Arthur, hands frantic as he checked for a pulse, thready and weak, before slamming his hands down on Arthur’s stomach. “Fucking breathe Arthur! Goddammit!” 

Grabbing at the motel phone, Eames dialed 911, hands pumping a steady rhythm on Arthur’s chest. “My partner overdosed! 18971 West Point, CountrySide Inn Motel. Yes.” Dropping the phone, Eames frantically kept pace with CPR, counting in his head as he waited to hear the wail of the sirens. “Arthur. Dammit Arthur.” 

Eames didn’t notice he was sobbing until the EMT’s arrived and one of them pulled him away, murmuring about needing to breathe and stay calm. “Would you like to ride with him?” 

Eames nodded, eyes locked on the younger man. 

The ride was lightning fast, Eames barely blinked and he was being shoved into a waiting room chair while they rushed Arthur back, shouting as they began shoving a tube down the point man's throat. Eames fingered his cellphone, considered who he would call. He knew, rationally, that it would be Cobb. 

“Hello?”

Cobb sounded, for the first time in a while, younger, lighter. Eames felt his heart twist, knowing he was about to bring the man back to the frantic reality of their world. 

“Dom? It’s Eames.”

“Eames! Surprised to hear from you.”

It wasn’t joy that lit Cobb’s voice, Eames knew the man held a special kind of loathing for him after he did what he did to Arthur. The pointman had always been special to Cobb, in a way that was only rivaled by Mal and the kids. 

“‘Fraid it’s not a call for pleasure or business mate.”

Cobb’s voice was ice. “Where’s Arthur?”

The sob that tore out of Eames’ throat had Cobb nearly hollering. “He… he… Christ.” Scrubbing a hand down his face, Eames tried to control himself. “He swallowed a bottle of pills man. Locked himself in a motel.”

Cobb was silent, the line still. “Where are you Eames?”

“Cincinnati. St. Mary’s.”

“I’ll be there in 8 hours.” The line went silent, and Eames allowed himself to breathe. Cobb would know how to handle this. 

\--

Arthur Part 5

There was no pain.

There was no light.

There was no joy.

There was nothing.

Arthur thought of Eames.

With Eames it all came back.

He felt a hardness when he swallowed.

Heard a beeping. 

Felt a hand squeezing his.

Cobb whispered in his ear.

Eames brushed his hair back.

Eames cried at his side at night.

Eames read him the paper in the morning.

Eames was pain. 

Eames was light.

Eames was joy.

Eames was everything.

Arthur thought of Eames.

And cried.

\--

Eames Part 5

“He’s crying again.” Cobb’s voice was soft, his hands already reaching to wipe away the tears spilling down Arthur’s sunken cheeks. Eames thought suddenly of Cobb’s children, wondered if he was a gentle with them as he was with Arthur right now. 

They had camped out in Arthur's room for 5 days now. Together they listened to the steady beep of the heart monitor. Together they held his hands, fluffed his pillows, straightened his clothes, bathed him. Eames had noticed the difference in them as each day wore on. While Eames handled Arthur like a lover, soft caresses and soft words. Cobb handled him like a baby brother, hands steady but gentle, words firm but kind. 

The doctors had all said positive things about Arthur’s recovery. Eames had found him just as his breathing had stopped, had kept his brain and body alive with his CPR. The doctors and EMT’s had all praised him on his quick thinking and determination. Eames had only cursed himself for taking so long to find Arthur. For ever letting him go in the first place. 

The sun broke on the 6th day, Eames yawned himself awake, eyes flitting around for Cobb when he heard his voice in the hallway.

“He’s doing well, the doctors are optimistic that he’ll wake up soon.”

“I’m glad you’re here Mr. Cobb.”

Eames frowned, the woman’s voice warbled like she was on the verge of tears, it wasn’t until she was escorted into the room, Cobb’s hand on her elbow, that Eames recognized her. Arthur had her picture in his wallet, his real wallet. The picture was at least 5 years old, stolen from FaceBook. Marie Thompson, Arthur’s sister. 

Marie was softer than Arthur, but she had the same slender frame and same beautiful eyes. Eames smiled politely at her as he stood to shake her hand. “Hello Mrs. Thompson, I’m Eames.”

Marie smiled, and for a moment Eames forgot how to breathe, there was the sibling similarity. “Call me Marie, Mr. Eames.”

Eames took his hand back, his smile sadder. “Then I insist on Eames.”

She nodded before looking around him at Arthur, her back stiffened as she took in the breathing tube and IV. Eames saw her eyes fill with tears. “Cobb, why don’t you show me where to get a cuppa, yeah?”

Cobb nodded, eyes flitting between Arthur and Marie. “Yeah.”

\--

When they came back Marie was speaking with the doctor, handing him a business card, clearly agitated as he pushed it back at her. 

“I don’t understand! I’m his sister!”

“I understand ma’am, but the file I have here clearly states that Arthur Landon has no living relatives, and it clearly states his ICE’s, which, I’m sorry, your name isn’t on.”

“Then who is?!”

Sighing, Dr. Amy stared down at his clipboard. “James Eames and Dominic Cobb.”

Marie’s eyes cut into the two men like glass. “I see.”

The doctor muttered another apology before escaping the angry woman. 

Marie walked toward them, eyes lit like fire. “I was trying to get Arthur transferred closer to me, barring that, I was trying to at least pass on my information so I could know when he wakes up, as I have to return home. And while I know that Arthur had to make changes to avoid prison after our father. I didn’t know that change meant cutting me out of any part of his life!” The woman shook, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

Eames rubbed the back of his neck, gauging how to attend to this particular situation. “It isn’t against you, Marie. It’s for you.”

“What exactly does that mean?!”

Cobb cut in, his expression carefully controlled. “What we do, what Arthur does, is extremely dangerous, not entirely legal, and you are a liability.”

“A liability!”

“Yes, Mrs. Thompson, a liability. In our business, families aren’t protected by civilian life. If Arthur had angered the right person, at the right time, and he hadn’t had the foresite to remove you from his history, then you and your children would have been in danger.”

Marie paused, her eyes twisting back to look at her baby brother. “He’s a criminal?”

Eames growled. “No, he’s military.”

Marie flinched, looking at Eames like she finally understood the danger they presented, that their lives presented. “Is he… is he good at it?”

Cobb smiled, his eyes proud. “Arthur is the best in the business.”

Marie smiled, proud in her own way. “Yeah. He always is.”

\--

Marie left the next morning among promises from both Eames and Cobb to keep in touch. It was the 7th day, and with about as much fuss as a sunrise, Arthur woke up.

Eames noticed first. He had been reading in the Swedish paper to Arthur when he looked up and saw the point man's eyes were open. 

“Arthur!” Jumping to his feet, Eames hit the call button, and hollered for Cobb. “Arthur, hey.” Reaching for the man’s face, Eames felt his lungs squeeze at the blank look in Arthur’s eyes. “Hey.”

Arthur blinked. 

The nurses and Dr. Amy rushed in, a flurry of activity as they removed the breathing tube and checked Arthur’s vitals. The doctor spoke of a psych eval, and Arthur was silent as he nodded along. Cobb arrived as the hospital staff was leaving, pausing long enough to grill the doctor for information before turning to Arthur.

“Artie.” Cobb walked steadily forward and Eames covered his mouth to stifle his gasp as he noticed the tears in the eyes of both men. Cobb trapped Arthur’s face in his big hands, bringing their foreheads together. “Artie, don’t you ever do that again.”

Arthur reached up, thin, emaciated fingers wrapping around Cobb’s thick calloused ones. “Okay.”

Cobb laughed, the sound wet and harsh as he cried. “Why?”

Arthur closed his eyes, voice shaky. “I just wanted the pain to stop.”

Eames felt his body give out, knees folding, he collapsed into a chair. “Arthur.”

Cobb pulled back, gave Arthur’s hands a gentle squeeze and left them to their privacy.

They sat in silence for some time, eyes locked on each other. Eames worried the ring he kept chained around his neck. 

“Mr. Eames.” Arthur paused, clearing his throat harshly. Eames jumped up, hands grabbing the cup of ice chips that he spooned into Arthur’s mouth.

“Arthur, can I… can I speak first? Please?”

Arthur stared, jaw moving against the ice in his mouth. After a long moment, Arthur nodded.

Eames stepped back, scrubbing a hand down his face to rub at his beard. “Arthur, look.” Clearing his throat, Eames bit back tears, needing Arthur to know that this wasn’t just an emotional outburst in the face of tragedy. After a thought, Eames pulled the ring out from under his shirt and closed his eyes in the face of Arthur’s shocked gaze. “I’m an asshole. A foolish, selfish, hopeless, asshole! I hate myself everyday. Everyday Arthur! For what I did to you. I look back at the mess I made, and it kills me. What I did to you.” Shaking his head, Eames felt the tears he’d been holding back roll down his face.

“I tried, so many times, to find a way to make up for what I did. To find you. To beg you to listen. To forgive me. When you agreed to the job with Nate I thought I’d finally have a chance to show you how sorry I am. I. I wanted your forgiveness. And, that’s selfish. What I want, what I need Arthur, is for you to know I hate myself, every damn day, for hurting you. For ruining us. And, I want, need, you to know how sorry I am. You don’t ever have to forgive me. I don’t forgive me! Goddammit Arthur! You have to live, so I know that you’re going to be OK! You have to be OK!” Sobbing, Eames stopped at Arthur’s side and peered down at the silent man. “You can't do this Arthur! You’re too good to die.”

Closing his eyes, Eames dropped his head and let himself cry. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. God, Arthur, losing you, hurting you, I hate myself for it. I. I’ll work everyday for the rest of our lives to prove that to you, but you have to live!”

A cold, too-thin hand slid into Eames’ own, causing the forger to jump, hand clenching in shock. He opened his eyes to stare down at the slender fingers wrapped around his own, and he followed them up to the bony wrist, medical band hanging too loose, up to the crook of a slender elbow complete with a thick scar, an old scar, up to the ridiculously large sleeves of the ugly blue hospital gown. Up a slender throat and stopping on beautiful honey-brown eyes. 

Arthur was crying, softly, quietly, his eyes flickered between Eames and the ring that dangled between them.

“You kept it.”

Eames laughed, the sound was thick with tears and pain. “Of course I kept it. Just because I was too stupid to know how much you loved me or I loved you doesn’t mean I was dumb enough to throw away priceless metal.”

Arthur smiled, hand slipping out of Eames’ grasp to reach up and touch the ring.

“What do you want from this, Mr. Eames.”

Eames reclaimed the hand in both of his, forcing Arthur to meet his gaze. “I want whatever you’ll give me Arthur. I want a lifetime of it. Of you.”

“I can’t promise easy.”

“Fuck easy!”

“I can’t promise forgiveness.”

“Fuck forgiveness!”

“I can’t…”

“Arthur.” Leaning down, Eames pressed a chaste kiss to the point man's lips. Lingering there, he spoke against the soft lips. “I will take anything you offer. I promise to give you everything. All of me. All of us. Every second. Every request. It’s yours. I am yours. If you’ll have me.”

Arthur’s eyes searched his, lips tight. “I will hold you to that, James.”

Breathing out a smile, Eames pressed their lips together again, rejoicing as Arthur moved against him.

\--

**The Beginning.**

_“This is Arthur, he will be running point.” Cobb spoke like a professor, voice grand and slightly pompous. Eames shot him a quick grin before turning his attention to the slip of a man at his side. ‘Arthur’ wore a dove grey vest with pearl buttons and matching trousers. He was dressed like a CEO and had the face of a teen model. Eames’ smile became predatory._

_“Hello Arthur, I’m Eames.”_

_Arthur turned his head and caught Eames’ eyes, taking the forgers breath away. Damn but the boy was beautiful. Hard lines, defined features, ridiculous ears, eyes to stop a truck and a scowl to wither a Marine._

_“I know who you are Mr. Eames.”_

_Eames smiled, if possible, wider. The younger man was harsh, barely 20 and carried himself like a veteran, which Eames supposed he was. The younger man shook Eames’ hand and he took a moment to catalog the scars on the new point mans fingers. He’d been tortured, which Eames took to understanding meant that their new point was ex-special ops._

_Eames continued to smile as Arthur was led away and introduced around._

\--

_Arthur took to their operation like a duck to water. Fitting in like he’d never been missing, and earning himself the respect of the dreamshare community within months. Arthur became synonymous with ruthless efficiency. Cold, demanding and hands down the best point man in the business._

_Eames found himself accepting jobs because he knew the younger man would be on them, usually with Cobb, always with Mal. Eames made sure to smile and flirt and wear his most garish shirts. Arthur never ruffled._

\--

_The first time they kissed, Arthur had been issuing the harshest verbal lashing of Eames’ life, calm and hissed like a snake, and Eames could only stare at the sinful way that the point man's collarbone peaked through his wrinkled dress shirt. The kiss hadn’t been planned, Eames had taken one look at those brown eyes lit with rage and felt the compulsion to see them lit with lust._

_The kiss was harsh, all teeth and edges and ended with them both rutting against each other like teenagers. After that, every time Arthur was angry he’d seek Eames’ out, hiss insults, and get thoroughly fucked in a spare closet._

_They moved their game to motels after a few months, and from motels to hotels. And eventually, from hotels to actual safehouses. It took them nearly a year before they began taking each other to their actual homes. They were fucking on the regular for almost three years before they began to meet up for more than sex. Dinners, lunches, movies, parties. They came together like sin._

_They bought a house together quickly after they began dating. They fit together domestically as beautifully as they worked together in dreamshare. Arthur left his rigidness at the doors, most days, and Eames’ left his sloppiness at the door, most days. They complimented each other, Arthur cooked dinners, Eames did dishes. They both avoided sweeping, and they both made the bed in the morning._

_It was a slice of bliss._

\--

_Groaning, Eames opened his eyes to the sunlight, cursing for a moment before he smelled the bacon and coffee in the next room. He let a content smile pull at his mouth as he climbed out of bed and ambled toward the kitchen. Arthur was at the stove, wearing a pair of boxers and Eames’ SoCal shirt, it hung past his thighs and slid off his shoulder, which caught the attention of Eames and his dick._

_Reaching forward, he wrapped his arms around Arthur, pressing lazy kisses to the younger man's pale throat. “Mmm, mornin’ love.”_

_Arthur craned his neck to press their mouths together. “Good morning. Happy Anniversary.”_

_Rubbing his nose against morning stubble, Eames smiled. “Happy Anniversary darling. How long is it now? 20? 30 years?”_

_Smiling softly, Arthur flipped the bacon onto a paper towel and flicked off the burner. “34 I believe.”_

_“Ah, yes. 34.” Skirting his hands down Arthur’s sides, Eames bit at the man’s neck, sliding his hands beneath the waistline of the point man’s boxers. “S’long time.”_

_“Mmmhmmm.” Arthur arched against him, pressing against him cattishly._

_Eames teased his fingers across a semi-hard cock, brushed against his balls before skirting back to tease at his ass, insistant and gentle. “How should we celebrate?”_

Arthur breathed heavily, body twitching against Eames, pressing back against the hand brushing against him. “How about you fuck me? Just like this?”

_Groaning, Eames plunged a dry finger into Arthur, swallowing the gasp with his mouth as he licked against Arthur's teeth. Pulling back, Eames spun Arthur around, smiling wolfishly as the man jumped to wrap long legs around Eames’ waist. “I quite like that idea.”_

_Arthur laughed, arms around Eames’ neck, he never looked more beautiful._

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a very long time since I have completed a work.


End file.
